PROPOSES TO LEAP FROM A THIRD-STORY WINDOW.
FOR some days, the recovery of Mr. Thomas was very doubtful. Some one
had to stay with him continually, and especially at night, for at that
dreary hour, “when churchyards yawn,” and one experiences an inclination
to sup on “hot blood,” (_vide_ Hamlet,) he was in the habit of raving a
good deal and of threatening to destroy himself, and the greater portion
of the human race.
By and by, “sitting up” with him got to be a rather sleepy task, and as
there were not very many whole men about, it was necessary for the
cripples to take turns at it.
One night, a week or so after the attempted suicide, my turn came. I was
told early in the evening that I was detailed to get up at twelve
o’clock, and stay with the sufferer till three. At the appointed time I
was awakened by one of the nurses, arose, dressed, and proceeded to the
invalid’s apartments. I entered the room with some misgivings, and
relieved a one-armed “hero,” who had been watching since nine o’clock.
The latter retired at once, and left me alone with the patient. The
latter was asleep at that time, and the single candle that was burning
in the room shed a ghastly light over his ashen face, and the white
bandage, slightly blood-stained, that was bound around his unhappy neck.
“He is asleep now,” the one-armed soldier had said, before withdrawing,
“and may not give you any trouble. If he should awake and try to hurt
you, ring the bell.”
The bell-wires, _et cetera_, used when the building was a hotel, were
still in good working order, and all that lent me courage was the
bell-pull that hung down close to my ear, when I had taken a seat on a
chair near the door.
I was just getting into an uncomfortable doze, when the patient waked
up, awoke me, and raising up quietly in bed, remarked:
“I believe I’ll jump out of this window.”
He said it as coolly as a man in good health would say: “I believe I’ll
take a walk.”
It was a third-story room, and the bed stood immediately by the window.
I thought of the disastrous consequences of such a proceeding on the
part of Thomas, and earnestly advised him not to think seriously of
embarking in such a colossal enterprise. The window was raised about two
feet, it being a warm night, and he gazed wistfully out into the sombre
darkness.
“Don’t do it, Thomas,” said I, with earnestness. “We are at least thirty
feet from the ground, and in your present condition it would not be
judicious. Wait till you get well, at least.”
“_You_ jump out,” he suggested, turning and looking upon me with a wild
stare.
He seemed to have just thought of it. What could be my excuse, for not
taking a flying leap in the dark, I being in sound health—what there was
of me?
I glanced furtively at the bell-pull, and replied.
“O no; not from that window. You see, that is a back window. The
laundress has some clothes hung out to dry just below, and it might
injure them. Besides, I am in the habit of doing my leaping from a
fourth-story front window. You’ll always find, Thomas, that a man of
refinement prefers a leap from a window of the fourth floor.”
He sat awhile, in a sort of thoughtful attitude while I kept one eye on
the bell-cord, and the other on him; then, to my relief, he deliberately
lay down again, drew the covers close up to his chin, and glided off
into a gentle slumber.
I had no more trouble with him. Thomas got well, in the course of a
month, left off drinking, and got to be a pretty sensible sort of
fellow. The last time I saw him was one day, some months after I had
left the hospital, when I returned to the old place on a brief visit. He
was engaged in a four-hand game of euchre, and I observed, just as I
arrived, that he held in his hand both bowers, ace, king and queen:
would you believe it?——he had the temerity to play it “alone,” and the
extraordinarily good luck to make “four times.”